Love Story
by Anna Marcelli Palmer
Summary: Maturity reaches some people late. When it finds Amy Rose, it causes a chain of deadly reactions. An airplane of unknown destination, a tragic accident, an island, a mad genius. A primeval, forgotten world of raw beauty; a race against everything.
1. Chapter 1

She had left it all behind.

It was not just an exaggerated statement, nor the scenario of some lame fantasy novel; she was there, lying sorrowfully against her seat, surrounded by strangers who didn't seem to notice a young girl that wore totally unappropriate clothes for such a cold and faraway destination, curled up like a broken doll somewhere beneath an old, leather jacket. The old curmudgeon next to her was immersed in his economics newspaper, grunting amongst his teeth light curses here and there, and a newly married couple was loudly arguing over some old girlfriend many seats behind. Voices and sounds of a reality long abandoned came to the ears distorted and muffled.

It was cold and uncomfortable. Smells came heavy to the nose, full of life and quotidianity. Occassional air gaps were the only reminders of the female's current situation; alone on an airplane, with none of her personal things, and having informed nobody of the fact.

A sudden impulse, if there is actually a term deep enough to name it. The realisation of the ever-left unspoken; her muscles had moved of their own accord, in virtually no contact with the brain. Year after year after year, thougt after thought, and a simple questionmark was raised to a nasty conglomerate of repressed "why"s. A desperate need of retreat. There was no love. No dream, no aspiration; only the remnants of a childish caprice.

Stop thinking of it. You'll go back, as you always do, and it's a shame.

"Tea or coffee, miss?", the flight attendant's voice. On purpose friendly and unexplainably cheerful right above her head. What did she say? The mind is so hazy and confused by the insane influx of thoughts. Such a waste of wit, such an internal rampage.

But pull yourself together. She's asking you, friggin' _tea or coffee? _

Eyes flashed open. The hedgehog wrestled with a sad excuse of a smile. "I am fine just like that, thank you". Darn. Your voice woman! Just erase the word "loser" from your face. Laugh. Chatter. Everybody's supposed to be enjoying the American Dream in here, no?

Even though alone, the young woman giggled, fidgeting in her seat in a small querry for comfort.

She knew the answer, and for some reason, it sounded utterly amusing. The elderly male's ice blue eyes instantly gawked at that sudden burst, debouching shyly from the pages of his read. "Are you okay, miss?"

No. "Of course. Thank you. I-I was just thinking of something..." So just please ignore me.

And he returned to the dollar devaluation.

The girl glared at the sour faces of the politicians staring at her through the worn paper, then looked away pondering. Her reaction had been impish and ...well,_ insane. _There are more practical ways to escape a situation and _that _sure didn't belong to the list.

But he had said...just remind me what had he said? That Ι was being...petulant? Crazy? Sulky? Naïve?

Ah, yes: A real grouch. And downright illogical. Υet, he would always be gone, as though trying to run away from...her? Was it her? She'd never know the answer, she didn't want it. Words made it all the more difficult. The trap was obvious. Stay here. You will be in trouble. I don't need your help. I'll always be there._ I._..damn..._love you._

I have to go. I am sorry.

The recipe. Three much longed for words.

Hope; this time it will be different.

Hurt; gone the next day, leaving her waiting.

And a sad excuse of comfort. We are friends nontheless...right?

Yeah...right. It's okay, Ames. Don't cry. Stop being _a grouch_ and _downright illogical _and go shine your huge smile to the world.

Pathetic. The world that swirled in her head through all that time. She had tried to scare it away, but it would just stay there, relentless and excruciating, with the tiniest of intentions to let go. Deep inside, she feared this would last for an eternity; deep inside, she knew she_ was_ pathetic; the situation the pink female had dragged herself into was passionately against every parameter of causality.

Nobody else turns back every single time.

_Pathetic. _

Nobody devotes their life to something, just to realise it's devouring them from the inside out.

_Pathetic. _

And every time it ended she realised there was nothing else to do anymore. The only option was to start all over again. For she hadn't predicted that outcome. Because, as much without the star of the scene the movie couldn't be made, even greater was the impossibility of it to get done in his presence; they had raised it to a shared internal ritual.

What a waste of time. What a sacred vicious circle.

Pathetic.

Suddenly, a heart-ceasing, resounding thump, and they all flinched in their seats. Then another one: more disarming: more crude and rough. And the slight, vexated movement turned to convulses forward, screams, whispered prayers. Third one: hostesses fled, their gentle and calm way, gloved palms touching shoulders in consolation. Everything's fine. It's jut yet another air gap. It'll be okay.

Pathetic.

As if from the depths of a dream, the female could hear the disheartening sobs of a little child. Nothing more deeming, nothing more mind-shattering than that_. Mom, what 's wrong? _

Silence. Despite the general commotion, a deadly acoustic harmony took over exactly at that exclamation, defying whispers and voices. You'd tell the Universe automatically held its breath, stopped and stared. Time and space frozen, petrified.

Yet another question unanswered. So much fuss, so much contemplation. What a stab to the heart of silence.

Is anyone in here a doctor? Please, we need a doctor. I can do nothing. Her heart has stopped.

Crude dread overcame it all, a nightmarish gleam in wide open eyes. Thump. Jolt. Then another thump, to be straightly followed by another jolt. Flight attendants could smile no further. Nothing could epitomize their current status better, but four words.

Pathetic.

Death. She could almost see the term floating in the air, though nobody actually phrased it in human syllabes. What to say, who to protect? There were things to be confessed, forgiveness to be asked for. Mistakes, feelings, mere thoughts, dear persons left behind. All of themselves they had tried to conceal behind what we call human civilisation nothing more than a mask on the floor.

Amy Rose the hedgehog had always been a cheerful optimist, yearning to enjoy every single drop of life; being the type of persons that just leave the present and simply equivocate to themselves when it comes to what happens tomorrow, death was a perspective she had never thought of.

And, like many people that had ignored mortality in the past, she was now breathless, heart pounding madly beneath the ribcage, limbs numb and unmoving.

She thought of the dreams she wouldn't fulfil.

She thought of her friends.

She thought that she hadn't yet seen her life pass in front of her eyes, like corny romance books had always claimed things to happen.

And that was it; the last grain of sand reached the bottom. They were falling. There was no tomorrow, and for an insane second it seemed like there had been no yesterday. Fear left, and peace filled the soul. Maybe that was the only solution from the beginning, after all.

You won't have to worry now.

It became dark. Thoughts expired.

The falling wouldn't stop.

Never.

_Pathetic..._

* * *

_**Even if this story was grueling or uninteresting to you, please let me know. Even if your review is a single word, it will actually help me improve and find out what's wrong with my writing. **_


	2. Chapter 2

Dark. That was the very first thought that came to her mind. Everything was dark. The optical nerve refused to analyze any color or definite shape; it felt as though the Artist had somehow got himself distracted and spilled a thousand rainbows on his canvas; Amy Rose was the kind of stubbornly optimistic person that regards black simply as the presence of all colors instead of the lack thereof.

So, that was what the mysticists called the afterlife? Was that infinite blindness all that remained to the layman after the end of their days? The pink female had no other explanations other than that of a sudden death, caused either of fear or during the crash landing, back on the airplane where she had passed the last -and most disheartening- moments of her short-lived existence. Or maybe...wait! Wait.

Back on the airplane.

She wasn't in the airplane anymore! Even if totally void of her sight, Amy would still bet that the rough feeling under her skin, the light caress of a soothing breeze, and the nostalgic smell of salt coming from the sea somewhere near, were real. Then again, it could be that she hadn't committed many sins in her life, being the ever-smiling and lovable next door girl type, and thus had gained a place in Heaven. She tried to remember the things they were told at school, during the religious education. Yeah, there sure where trees, and water, and you felt-they were always told- soothed, void of the burdens of life as your soul was set free.

Sonic always said that all this was brainwashing hokus pokus.

Maybe it indeed was. Amy caught herself hoping for that with all of her might. She wanted to be alive, continue with her dreams, instead of dying alone on an airplane where nobody knew or cared about her. If that was the afterlife, Heaven, or whatever one could call it, then who would tell her friends she was sorry? Who would give their infinite love to Sonic, that had promised, _promised _to marry her and would feel remorses just because his fiancee` had suddenly gone crazy, immature, and...and...downright ungrateful?

Amy thought all she wanted to do was just cry like there were no tomorrow. The fact that the tear she felt on her cheek seemed more than perfectly real -not to mention it implied the existence of absolutely healthy glands- made her ears twich. Everything was plainly confusing. How could she be alive? Where was she? And how could the feeling that she was flying be so realistic if just a simple hallucination?

_Someone is carrying me. _

Yeah, that was it! The aeroplane had collided into a small, inhabited island, and the villagers had probably seen the smoke, and came to save the survivors captured under the debris...

...the female closed her eyes, knowing...hoping...praying she was safe; then drifted to a disarming sleep of death.


End file.
